Chapter 20 - Charlotte #2
Charlotte’s heart began to race as they approached. She would have to face Penrose again, pretend nothing had happened, while his expectations—and possibly his proposal— loomed over her like a storm cloud.
They reached the entrance just as Lady Jersey’s voice rang out, commanding immediate attention from every guest.
“What a delight it has been to share such accomplished performances with all of you this evening.” She stood at the center of the stage, her gaze sweeping across the assembled company with obvious satisfaction.
“But no gathering is complete without the pleasure of movement. The musicians will now provide us with dancing, and I trust you shall all indulge.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. With Lady Jersey, it never was.
The room transformed with remarkable speed.
Servants appeared as if summoned by magic, swiftly rearranging chairs to the perimeter and clearing space for dancing.
The musicians shifted their positions, preparing instruments for their performance.
Within moments, the music room became a ballroom, and guests were already pairing off in anticipation.
Charlotte slipped into the music room, hoping to blend into the crowd, to find some corner where she might observe rather than participate. The opening strains of a quadrille filled the air, and couples began to move across the floor in synchronized elegance.
She’d barely taken three steps toward the windows when a voice spoke at her shoulder.
“Miss Fairmont.”
Charlotte startled, whirling to face him. Lord Penrose stood near enough that she could see the intricate folds of his cravat—far too close for someone who’d approached without warning. When had he gotten so near?
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to alarm you.” His smile was perfectly polite. “I was hoping to find you. Are you perhaps free now for that conversation? The balcony would be ideal.”
Charlotte’s mouth went dry. There was no escape this time. No interruption coming to save her. “Yes, of course.”
He offered his arm and Charlotte hesitated for a beat too long, aware of the couples circling them, of eyes that might notice her reluctance. Her fingers settled on his sleeve.
“This way.” He drew her forward. “I’ve known this house since childhood. Lady Jersey and my mother were very close, so I was here constantly as a boy.”
They walked to the far wall where tall French doors stood partially open to the night air.
“I used to sneak down here during my mother’s visits, back when I was young enough to find such rebellion thrilling.” He smiled at the memory, and for a moment he looked almost boyish. “The gardens are quite spectacular from this vantage point.”
Charlotte’s gaze swept the room. Every person here was part of Lady Jersey’s intimate circle, people who’d known Penrose since childhood. Was this sudden warmth for their benefit? Ensuring they all witnessed the devoted suitor?
Approaching the glass doors, Charlotte saw the balcony beyond was empty, the other guests preferring the warmth and society inside.
“That sounds lovely,” she said, the words feeling automatic.
He pulled the doors wider and guided her through.
The night air hit her face, cool and sharp after the stifling warmth of the ballroom. Charlotte stepped forward and looked up at the vast expanse of darkness, scattered with stars that seemed impossibly bright against London’s usual haze.
Behind her, the door clicked shut, and Charlotte fought the urge to turn around and run back inside.
“Do you enjoy the view?” His voice made her jump slightly, though when she glanced back he was still standing at a respectful distance.
“Yes,” Charlotte managed, keeping her eyes on the sky. “The stars are remarkably visible tonight. You can even see Orion.”
For a moment, his gaze followed hers skyward before returning to her face.
“I’ve never had much interest in constellations.
” The warmth had drained from his tone entirely.
“But I find myself very interested in having an honest conversation with you, Miss Fairmont. One without the performance we’ve both been maintaining. ”
Charlotte’s hands tightened on the balcony railing, the metal cold beneath her palms.
“I’m not certain what you mean, my lord.” She kept her voice level, eyes still fixed on the stars. “We’ve always spoken honestly.”
“Have we?” The question held no real curiosity. He moved closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him despite the cool air. “You’ve been very accomplished at saying all the right things. Smiling when expected. Dancing when required.”
Charlotte finally turned to look at him, searching for some trace of the charm he wore so easily around others. But here, alone in the darkness, that facade had dropped away, leaving only the hunter who’d finally cornered his prey.
“My family is grateful for your assistance. As am I.”
“Are you?” His smile was thin. “Because I must confess, Charlotte, I don’t feel particularly appreciated.”
The use of her Christian name—uninvited, presumptuous—made her stiffen. He’d never called her that before, had always maintained the proper formality even during their most private conversations.
“My lord—“
“We’re past formalities, don’t you think?” He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “In fact, I’ve begun to wonder if you have any intention of honoring the arrangement your father and I have made.”
“I have given you no reason to doubt—“
“You invent excuses to end every conversation we have. You refuse my calls, cut our dances short. You fabricate tales about grief when really you were meeting that young man in the churchyard. The one bold enough to attack me.” His eyes hardened.
“Tonight’s absence follows the same pattern.
I wonder…is he somewhere in this house right now?
Should I have the staff search for him?”
Ice-cold fear flooded Charlotte’s veins.
William. If Penrose discovered him, if he ruined him for helping her—but she caught herself mid-panic.
This was exactly what Penrose wanted. He was watching her with the focused intensity of a hunter who’d set a snare and was waiting to see if his prey would stumble into it.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, keeping her expression carefully blank. “You’re mistaken, my Lord. I wasn’t feeling well during the musicale and stepped into the retiring room. As for the churchyard, I was visiting my mother’s grave, just as I told you.”
Silence fell as Penrose’s eyes narrowed to slits, moving over her features as though he could read guilt in the set of her jaw. Charlotte could feel sweat gathering at the small of her back despite the cool air, but she didn’t look away, didn’t so much as blink.
After what felt like an eternity, he made a dismissive sound. “It hardly matters now. I spoke with your father this evening and he was quite eager to accept my proposal. Gave me his word without hesitation.”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. Of course her father had agreed.
What choice did Penrose leave him? The blackmail hung over them like a blade, and Penrose knew it.
The urge to rage at him was almost overwhelming, but what would that accomplish?
He held all the power here. Her fury would only amuse him.
She swallowed hard, willing her voice to stay steady. “Then what concerns you, my lord? If you have my father’s agreement—“
“I have your father’s promise that you will marry me,” he interrupted.
“But you and I both know that a reluctant bride makes for unfortunate optics. Society will talk. Questions will be asked.” He studied her with the same careful attention he might give a horse he was considering purchasing.
“I would prefer our marriage to appear as what it should be. A young woman grateful for rescue from poverty, eager to begin her new life.”
Charlotte heard herself ask the question that had haunted her since this nightmare began. “But why persist with me? When there are other young women who would welcome your proposal? Who would be eager without coercion?” Her voice broke slightly. “Why choose someone who so clearly resists?”
“Are you suggesting I should pursue someone else?”
I simply don’t understand why you would want a wife who needs convincing when you could have one who—“
“Who what? Who loves me?” The words dripped with contempt.
“Love is a fantasy, Charlotte. A story people tell themselves to make mediocrity bearable. I have no interest in being loved. I’m interested in practical arrangements that benefit both parties.
” His gaze sharpened. “Your family possesses something I want, and this marriage secures it. That’s all you need to understand. ”
“And what exactly does my family have that you want?”
“The specifics needn’t concern you. Such matters are between your father and myself. What should concern you is honoring the agreement.”
He straightened from the railing, moving closer until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“So let me clarify your situation. When I propose, you will accept with evident delight. You will convince everyone that you are grateful, eager, honored by my attention. No more reluctance. No more barely concealed distaste.”
She felt herself go very still.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper beside her ear.
“Because if you fail, if you dare to embarrass me or refuse, then every promise I made to your father vanishes. And without my protection?” His breath warmed her neck.
“Your family will lose everything. The townhouse, the estate, whatever scraps of dignity you’re still clinging to.
Your father will end up in debtor’s prison.
Your aunt will have nowhere to go.” He paused, letting the words settle.
“Is your stubbornness worth that price, Charlotte? Is your pride worth watching everyone you love destroyed?”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
“I thought not.” He stepped back, his expression settling into that pleasant mask again. “I’m glad we understand each other now. This conversation has been long overdue.”
He moved toward the balcony doors, then paused with his hand on the handle.
“I’ll give you a few moments to compose yourself before returning.” His tone was almost kind. “And when you do, I believe you owe me a dance.”
The door opened and closed behind him. Through the glass, Charlotte watched him rejoin the ballroom, his posture easy and relaxed as he accepted champagne from a passing footman. As though nothing had happened.
Charlotte’s legs threatened to give way and she gripped the balcony railing with both hands, forcing air into her lungs while rough metal bit into her palms.
They would find the blackmail. She and Mr. Fletcher would discover whatever proof Lord Penrose held over her father, turn his own weapon against him, threaten exposure unless he honored his promises without demanding marriage in return.
He would have no choice but to comply, couldn’t risk the scandal of having coerced a grieving family, and her father would still receive the assistance he needed while she remained free.
The plan felt solid when she laid it out step by step, each piece falling into place with reassuring logic.
But standing alone in the cold darkness with his threats still echoing, Charlotte struggled to believe it would work.
What if they never found the documents? What if they found them too late, or discovered them kept somewhere they could never access without raising suspicion?
The doubts multiplied faster than she could push them down, her plan feeling less like certainty and more like desperate fantasy.
The dance floor filled with couples taking their positions, music rising, voices blending into the familiar hum of an evening that would continue whether she rejoined it or not. But she had to go back. Had to face him. Had to pretend.
She pressed her palms harder against the railing, using the pain to ground herself. How long could she stand out here before someone noticed, before her absence became remarkable enough to draw attention she couldn’t afford?
Not long enough. Never long enough.